All That Matters
by magicmania87
Summary: Irreplacable lives were taken during the Second War, but Harry knows he must finish the War himself or all is lost. *My own version of Book 7. NO SPOILERS*


**All That Matters**

** Written in August 2007 _before _I had finished Deathly Hallows, so any resemblance to the real end of the series was completely unintentional **

He walked without emotion. He concentrated only on the quick rise and fall of his chest and the crush of leaves under his filthy trainers. He pushed long, wet strands of black hair out of his eyes, revealing the mark he hated as much as Voldemort himself: his scar. It was because of this spell set upon him when he was an infant that his life had been destroyed, as well as the people he most cared about. Perhaps, when it was all over, the lightning bolt would vanish, taking all the pain along with it.

Harry Potter tried not to let the memories entrap him in agony, but they crept into his mind and heart like viruses, weakening everything they touched. The scenes came to him in hurried flashes – much like a picture slide show being shown in twice the normal speed.

There was Dumbledore, falling to his death amidst a dazzling ray of green light, cast by the man Harry wished to destroy after Voldemort…SeverusSnape. The man would pay for his evil; Harry had made that promise long ago.

Ginny, sprawled on the ground in front of Bellatrix Lestrange, blood dripping from her lower lip, her eyes closed in forever slumber. No words can describe the pain he felt as he watched Sirius' cousin lower her wand, a smile of satisfaction forming on her pallid face. Lupin had grabbed him and forced him to Disapparate the moment he raised his wand to fire the 'Avada Kedavra' curse. How Harry hated his former professor for that one act, though Harry had to admit that Lupin had probably saved his life. Another Death Eater had been preparing to curse Harry to the ground at that moment, ready to save the Boy Who Lived for the Dark Lord who would soon finish him off.

The wind whistled through the trees, causing Harry to thrust his wand toward the sky. He waited with pounding heart for Voldemort to fly down upon him. When nothing happened, Harry breathed out and brought his shaking wand arm back down. It was incredible, he thought with disgust, how the most common of things could trigger the fight or flight instinct. The whistle of the wind was not a comfort to him. Indeed, it did not sound like the wind at all, but the cry of a loved one carried on the breeze. Sometimes it sounded like Ginny…and other times it sounded like Ron.

Ron. How incredible it was that Harry's best friend had stuck with him until the end, helping him retrieve and then destroy all the remaining Horcruxes. Although he had had his occasional fits of rage, Ron never deserted him or Hermione.

_Well, _Harry thought with a rare smile, _he never could leave Hermione, could he?_

His smile vanished when he thought about what the adventure had cost his friend. Cursed by an anonymous Death Eater while on the run near Godric's Hollow, Ron had endured days of unimaginable pain until he could bear no more. He passed away in Hermione's arms, finally telling her about his love for her and bestowing his utmost respect and admiration upon Harry.

"It's not fair," Harry had wept, clutching his limp hand. "You're a stupid git, Ron, you know that? You should never have gone with me. This was my journey and my journey alone. You should never have been injured…"

Ron managed a smirk. "I've always been a stubborn git; you know that better than anyone. But we did what we came here to do. We destroyed all the Horcruxes, and now you have to go defeat Voldemort and save the wizarding world like we all knew you would. You can do it, Harry. I believe in you."

Harry's throat had closed up at these words, and he didn't speak another word to Ron until his best friend slowly closed his eyes, reaching for a place neither Harry nor Hermione could go.

The sight of Hermione holding her lover's dead body in her arms would be an image Harry would carry with him the rest of his life. If Ron had been alive, it would have been a beautiful and touching scene, Hermione kissing the tears from Ron's face and whispering sweet words in his ear. But Ron had not been alive, and Hermione's tears were not from joy at Ron's heartfelt words - "I love you, Hermione" - but she wept because it had taken death for him to finally admit it.

Hermione had disappeared after the secret, secluded burial of Ron's body in the woods. It was impossible for them to bury him at Hogwarts or even at his own home. The Death Eaters were everywhere, and if Harry and Hermione had showed up in any major public place with their deceased friend, they would have been buried beside him. Thus, after the funeral, Hermione bid Harry and Ron one last farewell and Disapparated to a place Harry knew not.

But it did not matter now. Harry and Hermione both knew where Harry's path led…and she could not come with.

This was where Harry found himself now, on the path to almost certain death, with only the unnerving whisperings in the wind at his side. He didn't know where he was or how far he had to travel until he reached his destination, but the painful twinges in his scar told him Voldemort was not far. He could feel the Dark Lord's overwhelming anticipation and joy at finally being able to destroy Harry Potter once and for all.

How could Harry destroy the Dark Lord now? He had no protection, no Dumbledore to come to his aide like he had done at the Ministry of Magic two years prior. No, Harry had nothing but a few spells in his head and the now empowering anger and resentment he felt told the creature that had stolen his life. Voldemort had not directly killed Ginny, Ron, or even Dumbledore, but it was because of his presence in the world that the deaths had occurred. And this gave Harry the only tools he could call to his aide, but would it be enough?

_Of course not, _Harry answered himself as he ducked under a branch. _Voldemort is not going to be destroyed by a few well-chosen curse words. And my 'Avada Kedavra' spell is certainly not powerful enough against his, for that one has probably been used hundreds of times. But I can't run away like the coward some people think I am. I have to stand my ground and fight for the ones who have died – even if I die in the process. At least then I will be with the ones I love…_

"Potter."

He was not prepared for the chilling voice that spoke through the trees. After walking through the woods on the outskirts of London for over half an hour, Harry had begun to tire and his mind had been wandering. Now he was jolted back into reality, and his heart regained its uncomfortable, frantic pace. Harry drew his wand and clenched his jaw, the rage spilling over and entering every part of his body.

"Come out and face me!" he cried. Although his mind was fuzzy, he could still hear the shakiness in his voice. He had not eaten in over a day, and his body was past the point of exhaustion. He could hardly stand, but as the images of dead Ron, Dumbledore and Ginny coursed through his brain, he somehow found the strength to stay alert.

There was no response to his cry. If anything, the woods had grown more still.

"Did you hear me, snake?!" His voice had reached a high, maddening level. He was completely losing it, this he was sure of. Words poured from his mouth without him thinking them over. "I told you to show yourself! After all the people you've killed, after all the lives you've destroyed, how come you are coward enough to hide from the one person you've sought for so long?"

Suddenly he was there, and Harry unconsciously took a step backward. Voldemort looked just as power-mad and inhuman as ever, although his black robes had several holes in the thick material. Voldemort's eyes flashed bright red as he surveyed the bloodied and pale Harry Potter, and a smile formed on his lips.

"How desperate you must be, Harry, to seek me out after all that has happened to you. You are as weak and powerless as you've ever been, and yet you stand here before me with insults and a raised wand, as if you are about to attempt to duel me. Where did this strength come from, Potter?"

"Only from the lives you and your henchmen have taken!" Harry spat, raising his wand a little higher until it reached Voldemort's heart. "How weak am I, then, if I've survived long enough to stand here at the age of seventeen? But you have taken from me almost everything and everyone I hold dear, and that can never be forgiven. Prepare to duel me, Voldemort, or else I will follow you forever until you do."

Voldemort laughed, but it did not chill Harry's soul like it usually did. This time it increased the disgust and pure hatred he felt toward the maniac before him. His mind was no longer fuzzy and his wand hand wasn't shaking. Now that the time had come, the time Harry had dreaded since Dumbledore had told him the prophecy, he felt neither fear nor insecurity.

_"Harry, you're almost there."_

His eyes widened. The voice had come from beside him, yet he turned and nothing was there.

_"Harry, we love you. Don't give up."_

_ "Do what you have to do, son. We're here for you no matter what happens."_

Tears appeared in his eyes, for he recognized the voices now. They were the whisperings of his parents and his best friend. They continued to speak to him words of encouragement and love, and Harry no longer felt the pain of his empty stomach, the pounding of his head, or the agonizing exhaustion of his limbs. He felt empowered, protected; something he hadn't felt in months.

_"Harry, you can do it. Believe in yourself and you can never fail."_

Dumbledore's voice caused a tear to be released from his eye. As it rolled down his dirt-streaked cheek, Harry looked at Voldemort in a new light. This poor creature was nothing to be feared. In fact, he was weak and powerless; someone without feelings or love. He could easily be concurred…it just took the right person to do it.

Voldemort's smile had disappeared, and Harry noticed fear in his eyes. Had Voldemort heard the voices, too, or did he sense what was happening? Regardless, Voldemort knew time was growing short. He seized his wand and pointed it at Harry, his teeth clenched in anger and concentration.

**"Avada Kedavra!"**

The spell was cried by both wizards at the same time, green jets of light flying from the tips of both their wands. They intersected within milliseconds, and to Harry it was hard to tell which jet was his and which was Voldemort's. They had become one spell, but the question was whether the spell would hit him or the Dark Lord. Clearly the brotherly bond of their wands was not as issue…the spells found no resistance except the power-filled replica coming from the opposite wand.

The light filled Harry's vision until he could see nothing except a blinding green flash.

_This is it, _he thought, almost lowering his wand. _The spell is going to hit me. _

But at the last moment, the light faded and zoomed toward the caster across from Harry. An agonizing cry filled his ears, and an explosion greater than any man made bomb caused Harry to fall to the ground. Unbearable heat touched every inch of his skin, but somehow he knew he was not being burned alive.

He lay there crouched upon the leaves for what seemed like forever. When all became silent, Harry cautiously peered through his eyelids, expecting Dumbledore or Ron to be greeting him. But only a charred tree stump remained in the spot where the Dark Lord had once stood.

Voldemort was gone. The trees surrounding him were gone. All that remained within twenty feet was Harry, himself; the skinny boy with jet black hair, his mother's eyes, and…

_No!_

He ran his fingertips over his forehead, but all he felt was smooth, even skin.

His scar was gone.

*

He was greeted with tears of joy and sorrow when he returned to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley hugged him so tightly he nearly lost all air from his lungs, while Lupin and the rest of the Order merely looked stunned. Besides Mrs. Weasley, no one else dared to move toward him. All eyes were fixed intently on his face, and Harry heard some whisperings about the absence of the famous scar on his forehead.

No one spoke for some time. His very presence was enough to send some people into hysterical weeping, for not many expected to see him alive after Hermione had informed them where he was going.

Hermione…where was she?

"Harry."

He turned in time to see Hermione Granger walking out of the entrance to Ron's home. She was wearing a fresh blue jumper and jeans. Most of the physical signs of their journey were gone, except for faint cuts and scars on her face and the bags under her eyes.

But Harry saw none of this. He only saw her eyes...how they sparkled at the sight of him! Without a second thought, he ran toward her and scooped her up into the most meaningful and emotional embrace he had ever given. They both wept into each other's shoulders, and it was not until all their tears had gone before Hermione peered up into his face and whispered, "Is he gone?"

Harry nodded, smiling, and she let out a laugh. Harry knew this was all she could do to express the overwhelming relief and joy that had appeared at his response. They embraced once more, not ever wanting to let go. It seemed they were the only ones in the world who knew what Voldemort's rise and fall had cost. Fresh tears appeared in both their eyes, although today they were tears of both happiness and sorrow.

"Well done, Harry."

Harry reluctantly released Hermione to peer into the face of Remus Lupin, who also was shedding tears. "Your parents would be very proud," he said. "And Sirius…" He meant to say more, but he could not.

Harry smiled at him. "I know."

"But no more," Hermione burst in, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "No more death, no more sacrifices. Voldemort is gone, and we can live the lives we were meant to live." She turned to Harry. "_You _can live the life you were meant to live."

The thought was incomprehensible. How could he go back and live like any other teenager when he had led such a horrific life? How could he go back to Hogwarts when so many memories lingered there? And most importantly, how could he get through each day without Ron, Ginny and all the others he had loved?

Hermione saw the grief in his eyes, but she simply took his arm and led him toward the house. "One day at a time," she whispered.

One day at a time. Living was certainly possible, although forgetting was not. The future held grief and the dreaded unknown, but as he watched Hermione smile contentedly up at him, he knew he was going to get through it.

Voldemort may have destroyed many things, but he had not destroyed Harry's hope. And that was all that mattered now. 


End file.
